This poem is such fluff that it doesn’t even get asterisks.
the man in the Charlemagne suit
waves me over
leans down when I draw
near and whispers
Have you by any
chance a can opener handy?
Along with my apologies I offer the following explanation for today’s poem: I misread the title of Steve Berry’s The Charlemagne Pursuit in passing and couldn’t get the mistaken phrase out of my head until I wrote this. I suppose that makes it more of an exorcism, really.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged bad poetry, Charlemagne, exorcism, Steve Berry, The Charlemagne Pursuit, writing, writing practice
This passage from an article in Smithsonian Magazine just presented itself as a poem when I read it this morning. The article, “Into the Okavango Delta,” by Paul Theroux, is beautifully written, haunting and lyrical, and accompanied by lovely photographs. (Smithsonian, April 2013, p. 81)
On safari
past the cushions and the lounge
chairs, beyond the rails of the wide
platform, the lagoon on this reach of
the Okavango was dark and depthless-
seeming, in shadow as the sun set
behind it, but the slanting sun gilded
the reeds of the marsh and glittered
on the boughs of the acacia trees on what
looked like floating islands in the distance
– Paul Theroux, “Into the Okavango Delta,” Smithsonian, April 2013, p. 81
Posted in Poetry
Tagged found poetry, Okavango Delta, Paul Theroux, safari, Smithsonian Magazine
A poetry teacher once suggested that untitled poems could be headed with asterisks. I’m okay with leaving untitled poems without a heading, but I realize the title does help signal when a poem begins. What do you think?
***
deeper than thoughts run
the roots of our actions
from fissures in the bedrock
they twine, the farthest reach
of their blind tendrils lost
to our knowing in the molten
mystery of our genesis
Posted in Poetry
Tagged bedrock, genesis, mystery, prompted poetry, roots, writing practice, writing prompts
This was a 30/30 poetry prompt from last week. Responses or suggestions welcome!
Wisdom of Age
I have passed the threshold of possiblity
crossed the event horizon from expanding
universe into collapsing singularity
where time folds in on itself and matter
condenses with crushing persistence far beyond
the point where life and hope
cease to exist
Posted in Poetry
Tagged aging, astrophysics, black holes, prompted poetry, writing prompts
It’s time to pollute the blogosphere again with some of my poetic calisthenics. Please share responses and/or suggestions!
Flotsam of Fidelity
broken bits of promises lie
scattered on that futile
ocean whose treacherous bed
glitters with bones of wrecked
lovers forsworn in storms of deadly tedium
foundered in monotonous
habit of heart
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Wednesday night I facilitated a writing workshop at the library, “Creative Writing with Tarot.” Sixteen of us sat down with pen and paper and let ourselves get creative, with tarot cards for inspiration.
During one of the three-card spread exercises, I came up with a short poem for each of the cards I drew from the Tarot de Paris.
The Veil
naked she stands above the moon
draped with light and her own
fragrant hair
The Sun
the king is a fool who thinks
he is a god
the king is dead
long live the king
Stallion of Air
the moon’s horse cleaves
the night with chalken
hooves, its crystal breath
an icy cloud
(All images from the Tarot de Paris by J. Philip Thomas.)
Unless they’re broken
eggs are no good
can’t eat them
can’t hatch them
can’t even use them to vandalize
fresh or rotten, eggs are
no earthly good
whole
After a too-long hiatus I’ve returned to listening to Moby Dick via the Moby Dick Big Read audio project. Today was Chapter 57, the last of three enchanting chapters in the center of the book in which Melville critiques the ways in which whales have been depicted in art. Each chapter is worth reading (or hearing) in itself, but the third ends with a passage that leaves me breathless with delight. Read it aloud for the best effect, and I dare you not to find yourself carried away in the process!
Nor when expandingly lifted by your subject, can you fail to trace out great whales in the starry heavens, and boats in pursuit of them; as when long filled with thoughts of war the Eastern nations saw armies locked in battle among the clouds. Thus at the North have I chased Leviathan round and round the Pole with the revolutions of the bright points that first defined him to me. And beneath the effulgent Antarctic skies I have boarded the Arg0-Navis, and joined the chase against the starry Cetus far beyond the utmost stretch of Hydrus and the Flying Fish.
With a frigate’s anchors for my bridle-bitts and fasces of harpoons for spurs, would I could mount that whale and leap the topmost skies to see whether the fabled heavens with all their countless tents really lie encamped beyond my mortal sight! (p. 261)
(Quoted from the Franklin Library edition, published in 1974 and beautifully illustrated with colored plates. A cherished gift from a very dear friend.)
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged Cetus, Herman Melville, Leviathan, Moby Dick, Moby Dick Big Read, whales, whaling
It’s been a while since I posted, so I decided to write a mediocre poem in honor of the vernal equinox. Please feel free to leave a response or make suggestions!
Fickle Spring
she scatters promises like rose
petals at a wedding; their confetti
rains down around her, grand
marshal of her own parade, and we
the adoring crowds line festooned
streets to welcome her, eager
to catch a glimpse as her parti-
colored float drifts past
The Daily Compost 